


All He Wants For Christmas Is...

by ringaroundtherollins



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Holiday, Karaoke, M/M, Romantic Fluff, ambreigns - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ringaroundtherollins/pseuds/ringaroundtherollins
Summary: 'Tis the season for Ambreigns! Nothing says Christmas like karaoke following an episode of Raw. Matt and Jeff Hardy and Elias join the Shield in a night of food, drinks, and bad singing. But when Roman Reigns and Dean Ambrose are dared to perform a duet together, Roman just might succumb to his secret feelings for Dean. Will Roman's Christmas wish come true? Fluffy one-shot!





	All He Wants For Christmas Is...

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written a good old-fashioned Ambreigns story, so here you go! Just in time for the holiday season. Also this story was originally written in first-person POV, but I changed it because...because I could. There. So if there's any "I"s or "me"s or "my"s I forgot to edit out, just ignore those. Pretty please? Enjoy, my lovelies! Happy holidays!

Snow, beer and karaoke was tonight’s theme, apparently. Armida’s was a divey Mexican joint down the street from the venue. After a night of kicking each other’s asses and spitting dirty words into a microphone, it was time to unwind, have a beer or two or five, and make fools of themselves.  

Matt Hardy was on stage crooning Wham’s “Last Christmas”, and his brother Jeff was beneath him recording the performance so Matt could send it to his wife later. Must have been nice to have someone to cuddle up next to this time of year… 

Roman sipped his beer. Dean was helping himself to the plate of Macho Nachos. Seth ordered two of them, along with an order of sopapillas and a basket of chips and salsa. Like all of that would be enough to satisfy these hungry boys.  

“What are you going to sing, Elias?” Dean asked their other guest.

“I’m not sure yet,” Elias said, humming while he Googled a list of popular karaoke songs. “If we get drunk enough, we could get up there and do  _Bohemian Rhapsody_.” 

“If  _you_  get drunk enough, you could be up there hitting Freddy Mercury’s notes by yourself,” Roman noted. “It would be beautiful. Your fans would get a kick out of that.” 

            “Everyone here would be blessed to hear me sing. A free concert from a talented musician? Who’s ever heard of that?”

“What about you, Roman?” Dean questioned Roman next. “You getting up there and serenading us?” 

“Nope.” 

“Nobody wants to hear that, anyway,” Seth teased. “I’ve heard you sing, Roman. You sound like a cat getting castrated.” 

“You’ve never heard me sing,” Roman defended. 

“ _I’ve_  heard him sing,” Dean alleged.  

That was probably true. The three of them had been on thousands of road trips together, and car karaoke—what they amusingly called  _caraoke_ —was one of the highlights of those innumerable long trips. “And he sounds better than you think he does, Rollins.”  

Roman was glad Dean was sticking up for him, but it hadn’t changed his mind yet. “I’m not in the mood to prove you right, Dean.”

“Oh, come on,” Dean whined. “It’s not embarrassing. I promise.” 

“Yeah? You haven’t even been up yet.” It wasn’t a criticism but a challenge, and a smug smile tweaked Dean’s round face. 

“ _Yet_. I’ll probably go in the next half-hour or so.” 

“What’s your song pick?” 

“I was thinking about ’Hello.’ Adele.” 

Roman had a secret love of that song, but he wouldn’t admit it here. Nor would he join in Seth’s mocking. 

“That’s gonna be fun,” Seth chuckled. “I’m looking forward to that.” 

Matt finished his song and the small crowd applauded him. Not bad. His woman would be so happy, hopefully, as long as she didn’t embarrass easily. Roman clapped with them. 

“Atta boy, Matt!” Dean said.

“Who’s next?” Jeff asked, replenishing himself with a sip of wine.

“I think Roman wanted to go,” Dean said innocently. 

Roman groaned. “No, Roman doesn’t.” 

“Dude, quit being such a baby,” Seth said. For a brother, he could be mean sometimes. Roman could have ridiculed him in return if Seth hadn’t already sang. At the beginning of the night he’d performed a rather unnerving rendition of Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon”, à la Marilyn Manson. “We’re the Shield. We’re not babies.”

“I’m not feeling it.”

“If you want, I can get up there with you,” Dean suggested. “If you’re worried about sounding bad, I’ll sound bad right alongside you.” 

Roman had to smile at that. “I guess I wouldn’t mind a duet,” he admitted.

“Great!” Dean’s enthusiasm, that or his drunkenness, was entertaining. “Which song should we do?” 

“Well, it’s Christmastime,” Matt reminded them of the obvious. “You guys should do a Christmas number.” 

This was getting more ridiculous by the minute, but with Dean, Roman was probably going to love it. “Okay. Sure. What Christmas duet?” 

“I’ve got one.” Elias was grinning. You could never tell what the guy was thinking unless he came right out and said it. “ _Baby, it’s Cold Outside_.” 

Now Roman had to frown, but he didn’t want to dishearten Dean. “Isn’t that a little too…uh…” 

“Fluffy?” 

“Romantic,” Roman said without wanting to. 

“Well, if we’re singing a Christmas duet, it’s bound to be romantic,” Dean pointed out. He didn’t seem bothered. So Roman decided he wouldn’t, either. 

“Alright,” Roman said, finishing off my beer. He’d need plenty to get through this in confidence. “Whatever you want.” 

Dean and Roman waited through a screechy delivery of the Backstreet Boys’  _Everybody_. Dean grinned at him in a way that made Roman love him with everything he was. 

“Ready?” 

“Ready.” 

The screen was high on the wall, so they had to crane their heads far up to see the words. Not that they _needed_ the lyrics. Surely Dean knew them by heart by now as Roman did, with how overplayed this song was every year. 

“You want to be Louis or Ella?” 

Roman thought it over. “I’ll be Louis.” 

Dean laughed. “Alright. Make me the woman. That’s fine.” 

“You’re just prettier than me, that’s all.” Roman was forcing the self-reliance. He could Spear and Superman punch anyone in the ring in front of hundreds and hundreds of wrestling fans, but for whatever reason, singing made him nervous. Regardless of how he felt, this was going to happen. And Jeff was probably going to record it, too. 

Dean smiled at the words. “If you say so.” 

The music started up, and Dean put the cheap microphone to his pale lips and began, “ _I really can’t stay_ …” 

Roman’s voice was very timid to follow. “ _But baby, it’s cold outside_ …” 

Dean met that with volume, staring Roman’s way. God. His eyes. Like two perfect drops of delicious caramel. “ _I’ve got to go away_ …” 

“ _But baby, it’s cold outside_ …” Roman forced my voice up an octave, but he didn’t want it to crack. Dean was patient. 

“ _This evening has been_ —“ 

“ _Been hoping that you’d drop in_ …” 

“ _—so very nice_ …” He kept his smile up and curtsied like he was truly thanking Roman for a wonderful evening. 

“ _I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice_ …” Roman wanted to hold his hands for real, but Dean played his role, tapping his chin as if actually deliberating. Huh. Maybe he was pretending he really was Ella.

“ _My mother will start to worry_ …” 

“ _Beautiful, what’s your hurry_?” Damn right, he was beautiful. His soft brown locks, matching his eyes in color and attractiveness, gently swooshed as he turned from Roman, swaggering in his contemplation. Roman followed him. 

“ _And Father will be pacing the floor_ …” 

“ _Listen to the fireplace roar_ …” 

“ _So, really, I’d better scurry_ …” 

Roman shadowed him to the corner of the stage. “ _Beautiful, please don’t hurry_ …” 

Suddenly, Dean turned, deciding to stay for a little while. He marched towards Roman again. “ _Well, maybe just a half a drink more_ …” 

“ _Put some records on while I pour_ …” Roman was smiling at him, a fool’s smile. A complete fool, helpless against this goddamn love. He pretended Seth and Elias and the others couldn’t see them. If Dean didn’t know about his feelings, nobody would. Believe that.

“ _The neighbors might think_ …” 

“ _But baby, it’s bad out there_ …” Roman implored with him. _Find character. Like a play. Find out my character’s motivation, and this wouldn’t feel so silly. I want him to stay with me. I’d do anything. Stay here with me, Dean—er. Ella._

“ _Say, what’s in this drink_?” Dean asked, cocking his head after an imaginary sip of what we all hoped wasn’t a drugged beverage. 

“ _No cabs to be had out there_ …” 

“ _I wish I knew how—_ ” 

“ _Your eyes are like starlight now_ …” 

“— _to break the spell_ …” 

_Same, Dean. Same._

“ _I’ll take your hat_ …” Roman plucked an invisible hat off his head. He was getting into it now. “ _Your hair looks swell_ …” 

“ _I ought to say no, no, no, sir_ …” He sang this while wagging his finger, the other hand balled into a fist on his hip. Roman almost lost it in laughter. Dean was having a good time, and Dean’s good time was Roman’s as well. 

“ _Mind if I move in closer…_?” Roman did so, drawing near to Dean’s muscular, bundled form.

“ _At least I’m gonna say that I tried_ …” 

“ _What’s the sense of hurting my pride_ …?” 

“ _I really can’t stay_ …” Dean moved far away, and Roman trailed him, desperate.  _Pretending_  to be desperate. Right. 

“ _Oh, baby, don’t hold out_ …” Then Roman joined him in the bright title of the song: “ _Ah, but it’s cold outside_ …” 

Dean sauntered towards him, one slow step at a time, keeping rhythm with the gentle music. “ _I simply must go_ …” 

“ _But baby, it’s cold outside_ …” Roman rubbed my arms, faking a chill. Dean almost giggled. This was so fun.

“ _The answer is no_ …” 

“ _But baby, it’s cold outside.._.” Roman ignored the creep factors of this song in favor of Dean’s eagerness.  

“ _The welcome has been—_ “ 

“ _How lucky that you dropped in_ …” 

“ _—so nice and warm_ …” Dean approached him close and dragged a hand over his arm. Goosebumps immediately pulled the skin taught. Roman cleared his throat, nearly missing the next line. 

“ _Look out that window, at that storm_ …!” 

And it was back to Dean walking away, bearing in mind his options, drumming his chin. “ _My sister will be suspicious_ …” 

“ _Gosh, your lips look delicious_ …” Roman meant that line with all his heart.  

“ _My brother will be there at the door_ …” 

“ _Waves upon a tropical shore_ …” To this day he still had no idea what that line meant. Unless it was supposed to imply that kissing Dean’s delicious lips brought him to a steamy paradise, with waves upon a tropical shore. Could be.

“ _My maiden aunt’s mind is vicious_ …” 

Roman was following him in circles now. He heard laughter but Elias and the other guys were gone in his world. Nothing existed but him and the man he loved. “ _Gosh, your lips are delicious_ …”  _Wish I knew how delicious_ , he sang to himself. 

 “ _Well, maybe just a cigarette more_ …” 

“ _Never such a blizzard before_ …” Roman sang as Dean huffed on a make-believe cigarette. 

“ _I’ve got to get home_ …” 

“ _But baby, you’d freeze out there_ …”

“ _Say, lend me a comb_ …” 

Roman handed him an imaginary comb, and Dean brushed through his gorgeous mane. Roman’s knees were quaking. “ _It’s up to your knees out there_ …” 

“ _You’ve really been grand_ …” 

“ _I thrill when you touch my hand_ —” He almost froze as Dean _did_ reach over and take his hand in his. How right could just one hold feel? 

“ _But don’t you see…_?” He gave it a squeeze, then let go. 

“ _How can you do this thing to me…_?”  _No, seriously, Dean? How? How can you be so perfect and wonderful and completely clueless about how I feel_? 

“ _There’s bound to be talk tomorrow_ …” 

Roman didn’t give a shit what anyone said about them. “ _Think of my lifelong sorrow_ …” 

“ _At least there will be plenty implied_ …” 

Roman wanted him. Badly. “ _If you caught pneumonia and died_ …” 

“ _I really can’t stay_ …” Dean glanced at the exit again. 

“ _Get over that hold out_ …” _What if we could be something real? What if this could really, truly, actually happen for us…?_

Two-thirds of the Shield sang together. “ _Ah, but it’s cold outside_ …” 

Propelled by emotions, Roman approached him and situated his hands on Dean’s firm shoulders. Dean looked back at him with a swooning countenance that Roman imagined was real for a brief second. 

Roman asked him in song: “ _Where could you be going, when the wind is blowing and it’s cold outside_ …?” 

Dean gave into whatever he was feeling, coming back to center stage with him. Their eyes were anchored into each other’s. “ _Baby, it’s cold…cold outside_ …” 

Dean’s hands went to Roman’s neck, and held him there. Roman could have drowned in the deep chocolate of his eyes. So much mystery…so unclear how he felt but so confident in his own passions… 

But the song faded out and the bar erupted in courteous applause.  

Roman blinked. And it was gone. 

The music. The magic. The moment. All of that crap you think about at Christmastime, dreaming and loving and merriment…swept away by an upsurge of reality.  

Dean was laughing as if at a stupid joke, and he enfolded Roman’s neck in the bend of his elbow and said, “Nice job, buddy.” 

Buddy? Buddy. Wow. That was it. That was what Roman was to him, all he’d ever be. They weren’t in love—well, Dean wasn’t. Roman was. And it was incredibly stupid. 

He felt like a balloon that’d just been popped. You fill it up so much and suddenly there’s a burst of air and there’s nothing left. 

It was easy to get caught up in fantasy until reality came rolling back in like thunder. 

Dean wasn’t paying much attention to the dent in Roman’s mood. He bowed to the audience, then cruised back towards their table. The guys were laughing and clapping for him, for them.

Though there wasn’t a “them.” 

There was a Roman, and a Dean. But there was no “us.” 

Roman trekked to the table as well. His stomach was in knots, like the butterflies flapping around in there just a minute ago had all died off. He reclaimed his chair in front of several compliments. 

“That took balls, for sure,” Seth said.

“Thanks,” Roman answered without energy. Damn beer. He was coming off his buzz. He needed another. Or two or five. Anything to wipe this night away and the mushy feelings tagging along.

“I had a blast with you, Roman,” Dean said. His smile was only semi-comforting. 

“Thanks. I did, too.”

Only then did Dean realize his dramatic attitude modification. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing. Drunk. Tired.” Roman yawned to emphasize his lie. 

“You wanna head out?” 

“Hell no,” Matt said. “Not yet. Jeff just decided he’s gonna get up there and sing  _I Will Survive_.” 

That would have been hilarious. Roman got up to get another drink. “Anyone want anything?” he asked. 

Dean was still watching him, whether Roman knew it or not.

“Yeah, get me another one of those Fire and Ice things,” Seth garbled. “That was bomb.” 

“Sure. Anyone else?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer. Roman treaded towards the bar, blinking away black spots. Being in love made him ill, physically, emotionally, but as long as he had disgusting liquor, he had something to blame for his sudden foul mood.

A cute bartender asked him for my order, calling him “honey.” 

“Hey, yeah, can I get a Fire and Ice, an Arnold Palmer Eighteen…” That one was delectable. Vodka mixed with mint lemonade and iced tea. The perfect kick. Roman blinked at the menu, trying to make sense of the words in chalk. “And, uh…” 

“And a Manhattan Forty-Six, please.” 

His voice was angelic. Dean drew up beside Roman.

“How nice of me,” Roman said, grinning. He knew the Manhattan Forty-Six was for Dean. 

“How nice of  _me_.” Dean laid a twenty on the table and told the bartender to keep the change. She dropped it into the cash register and set off to prepare their drinks. 

Dean leaned against the bar with one arm. “What’s up, Ro? Why are you gloomy all of a sudden?” 

“Drunk,” Roman told him again. The bar filled with Jeff Hardy’s pitchy but entertaining voice. “ _At first I was afraid, I was petrified…kept thinking I could never live without you by my side_ …” 

“I’ve seen you drunk, Roman. I’ve seen you happy, angry, sad, irritated, and now I’ve seen you singing karaoke with me in front of dozens.” He smiled and it stirred Roman’s heart. “This…” Dean pressed a finger gently against his cheek. Roman fought breaking out in bliss. What was the point? “This is  _not_  drunk. Tipsy, maybe. But not drunk ‘n down.” 

“You know me really well,” Roman told him.  _So why the hell can’t you see_ … 

“Is Elias getting on your nerves? I’ll make him eat my fist.” 

Roman accidentally let a laugh slip. How did he do that? Morph his terrible mood into cheer? “No. It’s not him. It’s…” 

“You looked like you were having fun out there.” 

“I was, actually. I did. Had a great time. You’re a better singer than I remember.” 

“So why, then, are you dragging your ass behind you like it weighs a ton? All mopey?” 

“Just…” Roman tipped my head back, pushing air out towards the ceiling. How could he lie to someone he trusted and loved so much…? But he couldn’t be honest, either. Dammit. Dammit… “This time of year gets hard for me, in some ways.” 

“What ways?” he pushed. 

“You know, just the whole…not-having-anyone-to-share-it-with thing?”

Dean nodded. “Oh. Yeah. I get that. Gets hard for me, too, sometimes.”  

“How do you deal with it?”  

His smile widened again. “With you.” 

Roman’s breath hooked in his throat. 

“And Seth. Hard to feel so lonely when I’ve got this good company going for me.” 

“That’s true,” Roman agreed.

“Is it anyone special you’re wanting to spend the holidays with? Or is it just overall, general Christmas blues?” 

Roman shook his head. _I hate lying to you, Dean. I do. But.._. “I’m not depressed. Just…” 

“Just blue.” 

“Yeah. Got those Christmas blues. Like you said.” 

Dean stood up straight. “Forget about them. If nothing else, you’re stuck with me, and I like you and me.” 

There it was again. _You and me, but no “us.”_ Still, Roman found comfort in his words. It wasn’t like he didn’t “have” Dean. Perhaps having Dean this way wasn’t everything he wanted, but it was better than not knowing Dean at all. Seth, too. They were Roman’s family.

The bartender set the drinks down, and Dean helped Roman gather them. “Come on. Let’s go throw popcorn at Jeff.” 

That didn’t end up happening, of course. They all commended Jeff politely at the end of his loud and hilarious performance.  

“Felt good!” he shouted, the whisky obviously talking for him. “I gotta sit down, though…” He dropped into his chair and groaned. 

“Who’s next?” Seth asked. 

“I still have to give my solo performance,” Dean mentioned. 

“You’re not done embarrassing yourself for the night?” Elias snickered.

 “I wasn’t embarrassed at all,” Dean said. 

“Me neither,” Roman added. “The guy’s good.” 

Dean grinned at Roman. He took a long drink of his Manhattan, and coughed against the burn. “Yep, I’m set,” he said, vaunting onto the stage again. 

Roman was laughing again. Unbelievable. _He’s so good to me in every way and he doesn’t even realize it._

Dean surprised Roman by gripping the microphone with one hand and pointing directly Roman with the other, “This one’s for you, Roman.” 

_He’s going to serenade me with Adele—?_

Familiar jingling bells and singular xylophone notes preceded his slow, lovely lyrics. It wasn’t  _Hello_.  

“ _I…don’t want a lot for Christmas…there is just one thing I need_ …” 

Roman’s jaw practically detached from his head.  _Is he really_ …? 

“ _I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree_ …” Dean clutched the microphone tight, squeaking into its echoes in a gentle tone. “ _I just want you for my own…more than you could ever know_ …” 

Elias was hooting already, clapping loudly. Roman was still frozen in surprise. Surely Dean was just doing this to make him feel better, right? Surely this song wasn’t  _for_  Roman…

Right? 

“ _Make my wish come true_ …” He carried out the last note in a high pitch that, surprisingly, he nailed without squawking. “ _All I want for Christmas…is…you_.”  

The beat picked up, and Dean rocked his hips in adorable fashion to the tempo. His smile stretched far past his mouth; it went into his eyes, to his heart and soul. Soon his entire body rocked to the rhythm as he belted into the microphone. 

“ _I don't want a lot for Christmas_ _…there is just one thing I need…and I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree…_ ” He kept his eyes closed, facial expressions dramatic, like he was Steven Tyler. “ _I don't need to hang my stocking_ _there upon the fireplace…Santa Claus won't make me happy with a toy on Christmas Day_ …” Suddenly those beautiful eyes opened and without a doubt they were right on Roman. His insides heated. “ _I just want you for my own…more than you could ever know…make my wish come true...all I want for Christmas is you…baby_!” 

The guy was singing. Dancing. What Elias would call “embarrassing himself”, he was living out loud and proud in front of everyone. Strangers. Their friends. Roman. He’d said this one was  _for Roman._

Did he…could it be… 

Did he mean it? 

But how? All of a sudden, how and why? 

Roman didn’t care. He told reality to kiss his ass while he swooned over the amazing Dean Ambrose.  

“ _Oh, I won’t ask for much this Christmas…I won’t even wish for snow…and I’m just gonna keep on waiting, underneath the mistletoe_ … _I won’t make a list and send it to the North Pole for Saint Nick_ …” Dean jumped off the stage. “ _I won’t even stay awake to hear those magic reindeer click_ …” He snapped his fingers on one hand, holding onto the microphone for dear life in his rocking. Gradually he made his way to their table. “’ _Cause I just want you here tonight…holding onto me so tight…what more can I do? Baby, all I want for Christmas is you_ …” He thrust that same finger in Roman’s face. The patrons watched intently, confused, most likely. Roman wasn’t ashamed. He wanted to be close to Dean again. “ _You, baby_!” 

Dean started back towards the stage. Roman followed him as if enchanted by some spell.

Not seeming to mind, Dean made Roman melt with his sunshine smile, and kept singing: “ _All the lights are shining so brightly everywhere…hear the sound of children’s laughter fill the air_ …” 

Roman knew the song. Without a microphone, he was singing along.

 “ _And everyone is singing_ … _I hear those sleigh bells ringing_ …” 

Dean situated the microphone between them, near his lips as well as Roman’s. Roman belted with him, “ _Santa, won’t you bring me the one I really need? Would you please bring my baby to me_!” 

Dean crooned, “ _Oh, I don’t want a lot for Christmas…this is all I’m asking for…I just wanna see my baby standing right outside my door_ …” Roman kept up with him in vocals and energy. It was Dean’s performance, sure, but Roman couldn’t resist tasting the moment again. “ _I just want you for my own…more than you could ever know…make my wish come true! Baby, all I want for Christmas…is…_ ” 

Roman lost control of myself. The heart led the way. He kissed Dean’s cheek. 

“ _You_!” Dean sang with full heart. His cheeks were plump with dimples, tinted rosy. Roman felt damn proud. Whatever this meant, it felt good. 

“ _All I want for Christmas is you, baby_!” Roman finished the song with him. He could hardly stand on my own. Like a Christmas angel, he was floating in the clouds. 

The audience, or what little there was left, applauded him—them. Dean and Roman took bows, and scurried back to the table. Roman poured himself some water from the pitcher and chugged as his insides settled down.

“Well, that was, uh…interesting,” Elias said. 

“I don’t think anyone was talking to you, Elias!” Dean exclaimed.

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way. You guys looked great out there.” 

Dean beamed. “Damn right, we did.” 

“I thought it was sweet,” Seth complimented. 

“As did I,” Roman told Dean. 

The evening wound down around two in the morning. The group of WWE superstars paid for the drinks, left generous tips, and made off into the frosty evening. Dean trailed Roman to the rental car, but he lingered outside for a moment, watching everyone say goodbye and drive off to their respective hotels. They were alone now.

“Feeling better?” Dean asked Roman, his breath a reedy cloud. 

“Much better.” 

“Less lonely?” 

“It’s like I said just now. All I need for Christmas is you.” His heart hammered inside his chest. _Did I really just say that? How bold…_

“It’s all I  _want_  for Christmas is you. Silly.” 

“Same thing.” 

Dean chuckled, and it dwindled to tender earnestness. “I’m glad you came out tonight.” 

“Thanks. I am, too. I had a wonderful time.” 

Dean put his lips together. He was trembling, obviously cold. “Let’s get you get warmed up,” Roman said, feeling a bit overheated even in his coat, in a single-digit temperature. _Baby, it’s cold outside_ … 

He unlocked the car door. 

Dean suddenly wound his arms around Roman and held him close, securely, his chin over Roman’s shoulder. Roman hugged him back, thankful, more in love with him than he’d ever been before.

He felt so good. 

_This_  felt so good. 

“Merry Christmas, Roman,” Dean said, his voice as fragile as ice. 

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Dean let him go, and the warmth of his embrace stayed with Roman. “Let’s go home.”

            “Hotel, sweet hotel,” Roman said. They slinked into the car, shivering upon the leather seats. Roman cranked the engine on, allowing it to warm up before he took off. Staring out the frozen windshield at the glowing lights and foggy barred windows of the karaoke bar, Roman wanted to stay here as long as he could and never lose tonight, thinking about all that’d happened. He and Dean singing about love that was very real to him…Dean’s comfort, his encouragement, his precious gift of existence… _that didn’t feel like acting at all, up on stage. That felt as real as life_ … 

“Roman.” Dean interrupted the silence. “I think you forgot something.” 

“What?”

Dean reached over, clutched the front of Roman’s coat, and yanked him in like a fish. His delicious lips sealed with Roman’s, and he couldn’t breathe.  

Roman was in heaven, floating, drifting with no knowledge of pain or sadness or misery. He tasted so good. Roman wanted more, so much more…

Dean pulled away and Roman was left faint. 

“Wh—” He tried but couldn’t.  _Did that really just happen_ … 

“Now we can go.” Dean beamed in the darkness of the car, in the chill of a mysterious winter night.

“A-alright,” Roman stammered.

Wow.

Dean had kissed him. 

The taste of him lingered. 

These were the facts. And he wasn’t about to get downcast again. Not tonight. 

For once, reality was as kind to him as his dreams were.

This was Christmas and it truly was the season of hopes and miracles. 

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Roman told him before driving to the hotel, right on cloud nine. 


End file.
